maybe i understand you now (maybe i was wrong)
by renee walker
Summary: Four times Glimmer and Clove meet, two times they don't, and one time they say goodbye. Not necessarily in that order. / for Belle.


The first time they meet, Clove's eyes catch on Glimmer. She's beautiful, but a carbon copy of hundreds of simpering, superficial girls in District One.

District One always sends their best out, just like Two. Clove knows this - she's been trained to work with, and against, the One tributes.

Cato catches her eye, but shakes his head minutely. Glimmer is draped over him in less than a minute, all swaying hips and long, fluttering eyelashes. Clove grits her teeth, hands flexing like they would around the handles of her knives.

When Glimmer shoots unsteadily at a target two hours later, Clove bites down on the urge to laugh derisively. This bitch won't make it five minutes in the arena without their help. District One clearly lucked out this year.

* * *

The second time they meet, it's when they sneak out to get in extra training. Their mentors are waiting for them at the doors, huddled together tightly. Clove sees the flash of Enobaria's teeth, then catches how Cashmere's body rolls into a fighting stance fluidly. Gloss sees them. He clears his throat, eyes never straying from the group of tributes, and the other mentors fall away into relaxed postures.

"What do you think that was about?" Marvel asks once they're inside and the mentors have left. He sounds almost bored. He's fiddling with a spear, flipping it between his fingers deftly.

Clove can't help but notice that he's just as beautiful as Glimmer. It's in the sweep of his undercut hair, the high cliffs of his cheekbones, and in the thin, lean lines of his frame.

"Power plays, probably," Cato says. His eyes are this shade too sharp to be friendly.

"Disagreement over arena strategy," Clove offers. "Or something about us, more likely." She's halfway to the knives when Glimmer speaks up, voice too lovely for her words.

"'Something about us'?" coos Glimmer. "Honey, it's definitely about us. Probably about how we're going to play it in the arena, but also probably arguing who should fall into which role. Brutus wants Cato to lead, but Cashmere wants Marvel."

Clove continues towards the knives. She blinks because Glimmer sounds dangerous. Predatory instead of sweet. Strategic instead of simple-minded.

"What about Gloss and Enobaria?" Clove prompts, testing the waters.

Glimmer makes a derisive sound. "Gloss wants me to lead, actually," she says. She sounds almost dismissive, but kind of pleased. "Enobaria wants you."

"Who do you think should be leader?" Marvel says. He doesn't sound the least bit surprised. He must have known Glimmer had been hiding something underneath the smooth curves and bright smile.

Clove turns, knives in hand, as Glimmer smiles. Her eyes glitter, too bright, and her smile is white. She's picture-perfect, of course, but she says, "I think who becomes leader will happen naturally." The unspoken message hangs in the air: who can kill the most, and who can survive the best will be the best leader.

Clove realizes that she doesn't know a lot about Glimmer, but she does realize that Glimmer could be leader if she really wants to.

* * *

The third time they meet, it's when Glimmer throws Cato onto the mat with ease, and presses one of the dual swords she had been fighting with to his throat.

Clove narrows her eyes. On the opposite side of the mats, Marvel is smiling. Cato's eyebrows are raised - he's impressed.

Frankly, so is Clove.

"Thanks for fighting with me," Glimmer purrs at Cato. She bats her dark lashes, and sheathes her dual swords on her back as she turns away. "Marvel? Get me a towel, would you please?"

"Get your own towel," Marvel teases her, voice too light to be vicious. He hands her a towel anyway, and she delicately dabs her face with it.

It's clear to Clove that Glimmer's strength is not in archery, which she spent most of her own time yesterday working incompetently on, but in close-range combat and sword fighting. Why she chose to try and fake it in archery is something Clove understands well from her early days wielding a spear that was three times the size of her poorly and consciously.

Cato saunters back over to Clove, and raises his eyebrows pointedly. Still think she's weak? his expression reads and Clove glares at him. Then smiles sweetly as she squeezes his shoulder, hand pressing down into the bruise she saw Glimmer give him. Cato doesn't flinch. His mouth is smiling, and he's laughing at her without sound.

"Glimmer," Clove drawls, shoving Cato aside and moving forward. Glimmer turns her, face traced with a hint of wariness, and Clove viciously thinks good. Marvel rocks forward by her shoulder, a subtle shift that Cato's done to Clove dozens of times before. Ugh, men, and their useless protective asses. "I'd like to spar with you."

"Now?" Glimmer asks, casual. She drapes the towel around her necks. Tugs at her ponytail.

"Yeah," Clove says. She smiles, sweet and feral. "Now. With weapons."

They meet at the center of the mat. Glimmer draws her swords, and Clove unsheathes her knives. They're hunting knives, long and wicked, like her dual swords.

When they fight, it's all clashing metal and swinging bodies. Clove learns a lot about Glimmer in one fight: her agility, her flexibility, her strength. Glimmer's a good fighter, she's really good, and Clove pushes hard against her.

They don't get to see who the winner is. The trainers call lunch, voices sharp, and all the Career tributes know when to go. They need nutrition, they need water and to recuperate. Clove and Glimmer are locked, blades pressed against blades, when Marvel comes up and separates them.

"Save some for the actual Games," Cato says. Clove stares him down. He's unfazed, and stares back. "Spar with me when we get back from lunch." It's not a request but they've been training together for years. They know each other.

"Sure," Clove shrugs, casual, and Cato hitches an eyebrow at her. She catches Glimmer looking at them in her peripheral vision, but Glimmer's only looking for a second before she turns away.

* * *

The fourth time they meet, it's that night when Clove is restless. She throws off the silk blankets, shoves her feet into the training shoes Enobaria gave her, grabs the knife she stashed beneath her pillow, and books it out the door.

Miraculously, Clove doesn't run into anybody as she roams the halls. The night the tributes arrived at the Capitol, she had spotted both her mentors in the living room. Last night, it had been Cato she'd run into. Today, there's no one.

Or maybe not, Clove thinks, as she rounds the corner and spots Glimmer talking to an Avox. She watches as the Avox, a young boy with dark auburn hair, nods quickly and hurries off to do Glimmer's bidding.

The moment he leaves Clove's field of vision, Glimmer turns her head and flashes a serene smile. It may be 2:44 in the morning, but her hair is mussed in a way that looks artful. She's dressed in a long, pale blue silk robe that flutters as she twists her shoulders. The only evidence of exhaustion are the bags under her eyes.

"Stalking me?" Glimmer teases, voice lilting, and Clove hardens her voice. Stares her down.

"You're not good enough competition for that," Clove says dismissively. Glimmer's smile sharpens, just a bit.

"Darling," Glimmer begins, and Clove opens her mouth to object to the pet name. Glimmer's voice becomes silken, smoothing over whatever words Clove was about to say. The tone of her voice swallows any unspoken words hanging in the air. "I know you hate me, but we're allies. And if you want to keep it that way, I'd suggest biting your tongue more often."

"But you don't have to bite yours?" Clove challenges. She lets her voice turn sickly-sweet, and lets her eyes go cold and blank. Glimmer's not the only one who learned to deflect blows with a pretty little voice. "Need it to fuck your way to the top?"

"It's hard being pretty sometimes," Glimmer says, and that's, that's a truth. Clove almost wants to laugh. Every Career knows never to tell a truth, masked or not. Then she looks at Glimmer - at the dark circles under her eyes and at the thick, tight knot holding together her robe - and thinks she maybe understands.

She also thinks that Glimmer is turning out to be a little more than a handful.

"It's hard to be fucked?" Clove throws back at her. She's never been a kind one, and she's never below using secrets as a weapon.

Glimmer's expression doesn't even change. "Well, it's not like you would know."

"I've spent my time training to win."

"That's what Cato told me right before we fucked," Glimmer says, sweet, and Clove barely resists the urge to knife her. She tries to stare her down instead. It doesn't work. Glimmer doesn't falter - all sharp eyes, and soft smiles.

The Avox from earlier comes running back at the moment and breaks the spell.

Glimmer accepts the glass bottle with a nod, and Clove catches her eyes softening a fraction before the boy hurries away.

They stare at each other in silence for a bit, neither willing to say anything or let the other get away. Glimmer sips the violently coloured liquid inside the bottle. Clove wraps her hand around her knife.

"It's hard being pretty," Glimmer eventually tells her. "But Cato likes you."

Clove's narrows her eyes at her, but doesn't say anything. She lets this play out.

"I can teach you," Glimmer says, "how to be noticed by him. It wouldn't be hard. He likes you as much you like him."

"That's why he fucked you," Clove says dryly. Then she curses herself because no, she doesn't like Cato, not like that. It's too late to backtrack, because Glimmer is speaking.

"He was seduced by me," Glimmer shrugs, the movement elegant. "He likes my body, not me."

"And you think he likes me," Clove reiterates. Glimmer smiles, small and oddly sincere.

"I know he does."

Clove doesn't like Cato like that, but she hesitates. Being noticed in general could be played to her advantage...

"Fine," she says, finally. "Teach me how to be noticed." Her voice is as flat and derisive as possible, but Glimmer's smirking.

"Come on," Glimmer tells her. "Let's go back to my room."

That night, Glimmer teaches her how to do her hair ("This is called an updo," Glimmer says, pulling her own hair up, "but I think you might like a crown braid better."), how to apply makeup ("I can do this," Clove says, uncapping the eyeliner, "it's basically like cutting someone," and Glimmer laughs.), how to dress ("High-waisted pants," Glimmer suggests, "to make you look taller." She winks when Clove tells her that she'll cut off her legs and tongue.) and how to act ("Sweetheart, he wanted me for my body. He wants you for your personality," she says, when Clove asks.)

That night, Clove laughs and jokes more than she means to, and gets well-acquainted to Glimmer's laugh and jokes too.

* * *

They don't meet again, but they do draw closer to each other on the final day of training.

Clove ate breakfast, elbowed Cato, and talked with Enobaria and Brutus before going to where District One is staying.

"Don't get attached," Enobaria warns her.

She bares her teeth when Clove says. "I won't."

It sounds like Enobaria's trying to call her out, and Clove narrows her gaze and nods to press her words forwards.

When it's time for training, Clove wanders down with Glimmer and Marvel. Cato's already there, glaring at the District Eleven tribute, who rejected them yesterday, as he pulls out a sword.

"Hey," he says. He nods definitely at Marvel, hugs Glimmer, and stops short at Clove. She has her hair in a half-bun, done by Glimmer, and her eyelashes are elongated with mascara. She painted her lips red, like Enobaria's. "Clove, I think you've been hanging around One too much."

"Maybe that's just you," Clove bites back, smiling sweetly. Cato's eyes narrow, and an eyebrow hitches. He reaches over, and tugs at a strand of hair. It's a pretty normal thing, and Clove grabs his wrist, twisting it painfully, on instinct. Cato lets her, as always.

They go to wrestle, and Marvel and Glimmer head over to work on traps.

Clove finds herself in the presence of Glimmer more often than she thought she would. She teaches her how to throw knives, and Glimmer taps at her shoulder when they all work on archery, straightening her arm out. Clove hits the bullseye. Surprisingly, so do Glimmer and Marvel. Cato just misses, and Clove laughs at him.

He shoves at her shoulder roughly. For a moment, his hand is more delicate and careful than usual.

Clove notices, with some disdain, that Cato doesn't reach out to Glimmer as much as he usually does. Or maybe that's Glimmer keeping her distance. Cato does talk to all of them like usual, but she feels the gentleness of his fingers right before the roughness of his touch.

She wonders if it's always been like this, or if it's just the makeup and hair. Probably the latter, the pervert.

Later, Cato tells her, "You looked nice. For you, anyway," in a bored voice in the elevator. Clove bares her teeth in a sharp grin, and punches him.

* * *

It's the interviews and Clove scowls, tugging at her short orange dress. It's dainty and pretty to counteract her arrogant, sarcastic angle. She doesn't like it, but she does like the irony it will represent.

"The skirt is tulle," her stylist explains. The top is strapless, with a sweetheart neckline. Clove glares at her stylist until he fucking finally goes away.

"You don't look like literal trash, I'm almost impressed," Cato says. He, as always, looks his part in a fitted black tux over his muscular frame, tight enough to stretch over shoulders and cling to the powerful arches of his legs.

"And even with Capitol help, you still look like literal trash."

He smirks. "That's practically a compliment coming from you," he says. "Because I know you want me."

Clove barks out a laugh. "Want you," she repeats. She ignores the pounding of her heart. "I think you hit your head too hard during wrestling."

"The makeup, the hair?" Cato prompts, raising an eyebrow. He's still smirking, that fucker. Clove wants to carve out that smirk. "That wasn't for the Ones, that was for me."

Clove says, "Maybe I have a thing for Marvel. Maybe I have a thing for Glimmer," which is so surprising that Cato actually looks incredulous. Clove grins.

Enobaria and Brutus come to shove them over to the other tributes, both of them swearing at the tributes, fingers tight on their shoulders.

They approach the Ones, and see Glimmer smoothing down Marvel's tux. She's looking down at his unbuttoned collar instead of his eyes, adjusting the collar minutely. Marvel ducks his head, but doesn't stare at Glimmer's breasts, made prominent in the slinky gold dress with only gold sequins covering her privates. Instead, he seems to meet her eyes and makes her look at him. Whatever they're saying makes each other smile. Marvel's hand is curling half-around her ribcage, fingers rubbing circles on her back.

Clove thinks, oh.

Then she feels a hand tangling with hers, fingers linking together, and she knows this hand. She looks up at Cato with narrowed eyes, but he stares ahead. He does slow his pace, though, letting her drag him along instead of the other way, and she thinks, maybe.

"You guys clean up well," Marvel teases, as he and Glimmer casually step back from each other. His hair is immaculate and his smile white. His lashes are even longer than Clove's, probably.

"You look pretty," Glimmer tells Clove, a small smile on her lips, and Clove tells her that she does too. Glimmer's smile widens.

That's high Clove somehow finds herself smiling back at Glimmer, hand tangled with Cato's, and talking to Marvel.

She's gotten attached, she knows, but she's, she's kind of somehow happy.

* * *

When they say goodbye, it's at night, and Clove is barely lucid. She sees Glimmer's face shimmering in the sky, like she's some sort of angel, and she's not quite recovered to figure out what that means.

"Glimmer," she mutters under her breath, and she think she's going to die because her throat is on fire, everything is shiny, and Glimmer's face is wavering in her vision. There's screaming around her, or maybe in her head? She's losing consciousness. "Thank you," she says, and hopes it's too quiet to catch.

When Clove wakes, she doesn't remember much except fumbling to pull out the tracker-jacker stings, throwing herself in the lake with the others, and Glimmer's face. She inhales deeply, then wills herself to sit up. Every muscle in her body is sore and it hurts to move. She makes herself.

She can feel the sheaths of her knives inside her jacket. She can see Cato, sprawled by her hip, and rise and fall of his chest. His sword, still bloody, lying beside him. There's Marvel a few feet away, and the glint of his spears a bit from him. There's no Glimmer.

If Glimmer didn't make it here, Clove knows she's not alive. She knows.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, they're hard and cold.

* * *

There's an announcement made that two people from the same district can be crowned Victors.

Clove and Cato aren't stupid enough to think that's the full extent, but there's a chance because they're the best, and they take things in the moment.

That night, she and Cato kiss. The moment before their lips touch, Clove has a flash of Glimmer saying, Sweetheart, he wanted me for my body. He wants you for your personality, and kisses Cato harder to find... Some sort of safety, or comfort.

She finds Cato's warmth, his strength, his power, and Clove can't say she minds this kiss.

"How long have you wanted this?" Cato whispers into the curve of her collarbone.

"Too long," Clove says.

Cato murmurs, "Me too," and kisses her again. It's hard and vicious, but there's a longing that Clove knows both she and Cato are putting in.

Glimmer, thank you.

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the _Hunger Games,_ and thus, I also don't own any of the characters. Rights go to the wonderful Suzanne Collins.**


End file.
